


Rain

by twowritehands



Series: Destiel [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A casual sex arrangement between human and angel is never simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

Dean can’t sleep. Doesn’t want to. He just thinks the same thoughts over and over, and he doesn’t want to do that, either, but he can’t stop himself. So he walks. The night is full of misty rain, chilly air and silence.

Deep sighs keep swelling up in him and rolling out over his tongue. Sometimes they sound miserable, sometimes they sound happy. Sometimes Dean thinks his misery is what makes him happy. How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to sleep, and he doesn’t want to think, he just wants--

He just wants…

Another sigh and Dean’s eyes drift upward towards the ink blank sky, a ghost of a smile in the corner of his pink lips. He’s walking down glistening wet asphalt, the glow of the motel parking lot still visible behind him. The cold night air is better than tossing and turning in over warm, unfamiliar sheets thinking these things he’s thinking.

Like that Cas makes him feel so…

And it had almost seemed--the other day, when they talked after sex--it had almost seemed as if Cas had admitted that he...

Another wistful breath, and Dean stops walking, horrified with himself. He knows that he just sighed like eight times in half as many minutes, and he knows what that looks like. He’s thankful no one is around to see him like this what with Sammy back in the motel room sleeping off the exhaustion of killing a vengeful spirit.

The sound of running water helps Dean realize he’s on a bridge, and he wanders to the edge of it to look down at the dark water. The smell of the cold river makes Dean think of Cas’ cool tongue in his mouth as they fucked. Dean breathes deep again and scrubs his face. His body feels overly tense, full of exhausting need.

Last night, that need had, at least in part, been sated. With Cas holding onto him and bleeding into him, something had felt in place, something had felt… right. But that is one of the things he isn’t thinking about. No, no, don’t think about that. Dean pushes the pads of his thumbs against his eyelids with an angry, hurt groan.

The word he moans is utterly involuntary, as if his misery suddenly finds a voice and cannot be silent. “Caaaaas,” he swears. Praises. Weeps. Wishes.

Leaning on the icy metal railing of the bridge with his eyes closed, Dean’s will buckles under the weight of it all and he half allows himself to sink into all the things his thoughts are dancing around, all the things he dare not want, lest he meet with the fact he can never ever have any of it.

Things like Cas’ scalp and the way it smells when he’s sweaty from fucking, and how he wants to smell that as he falls asleep every night. The weight of Cas’ hands on his hips, and how he wants that as something he can feel any and every time he needs to know he isn’t alone.  That raspy, yet all-encompassing pronunciation the angel has of the syllable ‘dean’, and how no one has ever put so much into the sound of his name before. The tilt Cas’ lips make when he smiles because of his friends, and then the other smile he only has for Dean. The sheer awkwardness of him as a physical sentient being, so clearly a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent crammed into a little meat suit, yet that awkwardness fades away in bed until he’s just another guy, moaning and grunting and panting and straining.

Nope, can’t have that. Not for real. Not forever.

“Dean,” Cas says from right behind him. The hunter gives a start and whirls.

“Cas, man. You scared me.”

“You called for me,” is Cas’ response, dark brows lowering over his blue eyes.

 _Not on purpose_ , Dean thinks. He’ll never get used to the way the angel hears his name like a trumpet call, no matter how softly whispered. The way he just appears, sometimes Dean thinks the angel can even hear his name in thoughts.

He feels torn between sending Cas back on his way or… Or… something more drastic. The second option sends Dean’s heart racing, or maybe that’s just the sight of Cas. The angel steps forward, pure concern wrinkling his brow, “Are you alright?”

Heart-rate climbing ever higher, face feeling hot, and panic swelling in his chest, the hunter swallows and grunts, “Sure.”

He’s far from alright, but what is he supposed to say? This has to be a normal, not weird, not emotional conversation. In Dean’s head it can play out no other way. Talking, for real, with Cas, right now, about everything they don’t say, that isn’t an option. No one just starts those conversations. No one demands when talks like that happen. So he runs from it. He sweeps it aside. He turns a blind eye.

For Dean, that’s how he survives. So he lies and plays it cool. Like he just decided to go for a walk in the drizzling winter night for no underlying purpose at all. Just because. Cas keeps his eyes down as he speaks, like he knows, or shares in, Dean’s unease.

“I apologize for the way I left yesterday. I--“ the angel cuts himself off, lifting his eyes to Dean’s. “I was embarrassed.”

A rush of affection eases Dean’s nerves and he finds his voice to apologize, “I shouldn’t have been baiting you about your angel virginity.”

“You want me to be with others,” Cas says somewhat flatly.

“Yeah,” Dean blindly agrees, because that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

“My fidelity means nothing to you?” His question is so sincere, that puppy dog look in his blue eyes, perfect lips parted, head tilted just a little. So vulnerable.

The unwavering devotion of an angel, a literal angel, is not something--can never be anything--that a worn down, alcoholic, unattached drifter like Dean Winchester could ever deserve. Just because it’s given doesn’t mean he should take it. And ruin it. As he does all things.

Dean’s lip trembles, and in the space when he’s supposed to answer, he doesn’t have anything. He’s just a man standing in the damp night, holding back the burning start of a sob while the love of his pathetic, blood-stained life stands in front of him, looking at him, needing so much more than Dean can give.

“I didn’t ask for it,” Dean rasps at last and hot tears race down his cheeks.

“You asked for me,” Cas whispers, moving in suddenly close enough for Dean to smell the atmosphere clinging to Cas’ clothing. “You asked for me to take you, and I did.”

Dean’s skin goose pimples and that sweet pull of surrender latches onto him in a vice grip. All the fight drains out of him, and he lets Cas’ body brush his once, twice, caging him against the cold iron of the bridge railing. “You keep asking,” the angel whispers with a grin, “I never deny you. And I never will.”

“Cas,” Dean chokes.

“I would like to give you my fidelity, Dean…”

In the silence that follows, the heat in Cas’ expression dims, then dissolves into unease, and the angel glances away, eyes skirting Dean’s edges, before he adds, “…I would be more comfortable with that kind of arrangement….”

In what limited space there is between them, Dean lifts his hands to scrub away the tear tracks that are cold on his face. His knuckles graze Cas’ tie as he lowers his hands. He doesn’t drop them all the way. They rest somewhat awkwardly there on Cas’ chest.

Dean needs a drink, but fortunately has a foothold now thanks to the angel’s knack for awkwardness. He sees a way past this humiliating moment. Smiling lopsided, finding the excuse of fixing Cas’ tie to be why he hasn’t dropped his hands, the hunter nods like he is doing Cas a favor here. “If that’s what you need, buddy, then okay. Sure.”

Cas radiates with happiness, a smile that brings the sun out. Dean feels pulled towards it like a magnet and can’t help smiling himself. For who-knows-how-long, the pair of them stand there grinning at each other, Dean still holding the tie. Then the ozone smell gets a little stronger, the fire grows back into Cas’ eyes, and Dean clears his throat.

It can happen. Right now.

There is no denying that the thought thrills Dean. His times with Cas have never been so close together, usually he denies what he wants for weeks on end before he caves and calls Cas down into his bed. But here, now, he can have the best sex of his life again within barely 48 hours of the last time.

Except--Dean sighs, except for Sam. Story of Dean’s life, he has to put his personal life on hold for his brother. He speaks into the growing tension between them, “Sammy’s probably wondering where I am.”

“He’s sleeping,” Cas assures, and probably he’s working a low key miracle to keep Sam asleep enough to miss a hurricane, but he turns with Dean anyway. In step, they head back to the motel room.

The backs of their hands brush, once… twice... Cas does what Cas does best next and asks his blunt, focused question outright, with no Segway or warning. “Do humans usually prefer their sexual partners to be promiscuous? There was a time when virtue was desirable.”

Dean chuckles, taking Cas’ hand, “I don’t hold it against ya, Cas, I promise.”

Looking unconvinced, but curling his fingers into the spaces between Dean’s, the angel hums ruefully, “You never answered my question, though.”

“What question?” Dean pulled up short and faced his friend--official lover?--with a frown.

“I have only ever been with you, in all my life. Is that so inconsequential to you that you would push me to be with others? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Dean looks down, swallowing, but forces himself to meet those round blues. “Cas…”

Before he can frame his answer beyond that one syllable, Cas suddenly gasps and looks up and a moment later, a torrential down pour begins. The clouds have opened up, dropping their heavy cold rain in rapid, forceful splatters on the pavement and their uncovered heads.

Thinking only that barging into the room would just wake Sam up, Dean goes for the car door; it is nearest anyway. He clambers in behind the wheel, and Cas appears in the passenger’s seat. Rain water slips from the ends of his plastered hair, down his face and Dean doesn’t waste any more time. He kisses the angel.

Cas has a way of kissing back like he has been drowning, and should one more second have passed before the kiss began he would have died, as if the kiss is the last and thinnest thread of his salvation, and he’s not going to let it go. With sudden and determined force, Cas has Dean pressed into his seat and he’s swinging his leg over Dean’s to straddle his lap.

It’s a tight space in front of the steering wheel, and Cas’ ass bumps the horn. They both jump and then snort with laughter; Dean checks the motel room windows but they remain dark. Some shifting gets them both comfortable and Dean can’t believe he has an angel in his lap, beads of rain still rolling off his shoulders, the warmest part of him pressed to the warmest of Cas.

He snakes his arms beneath the coat and jacket, feels the haphazard way the shirt tail has been shoved into the pants, wrinkled and twisted. He represses the urge to snort as he resolves the issue by tugging the shirt free. Next he hooks a finger in the tie and works the knot low enough to pull it over Cas’ head. He does so as Cas tries to shrug out of his layers, elbow banging the steering wheel.

A grin so big it wrinkles Cas’ nose and shows his pink gums makes Dean grin with the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A second attempt nearly cracks the window, and Cas breathes loudly in frustration. “Not enough space.”

Dean is half expecting it, and so isn’t too surprised to blink and find himself in the roomier back seat, but he had not been expecting to be on his back looking up at the ceiling and so lets out a sound of wonder.

“Man, you know I hate that!” he bitches playfully, but he is grinning because Cas very rarely saves such awkward moments with such smooth moves. For the first time, Dean has to admit that there is something to being with someone who teleports.

Cas does not respond, mouth busy on Dean’s neck. It feels so good Dean lets his eyes drop closed as he stretches out. The space is still cramped, though, so he has few options, limited elbow room. Hooking one leg over Cas’ hips, he lets the other rest across the front seat.  Cas supports his head and shoulders and grinds their hips together. His cock stiffens and twitches, and outside the car, the rain pelts hard enough to sound like hail.

There is a hard ridge pressing back against him, and Cas’ breaths are labored and hot as moist lips tickle his earlobe. Dean hums, gets beneath the shirt and pushes his fingers playfully into the waistband of the trousers.  But they don’t have condoms out here, and there really isn’t the space anyway. Dean bucks against his lover and grips handfuls of Cas’ ass to grind their hips harder.

By now the windows are completely steamed over, and a distant part of Dean’s brain knows the car is rocking obscenely. But man does he not care. The greater part of his mind is focused acutely on the burning ache between them, the musky scent blending with whiskey-breath and ozone, and the maddening need for more.

The way Cas clutches him, grunting and rocking just isn’t enough and Dean knows Cas feels the same way a moment later when the angel stops and meets his eye. There is a purely human, animal look there--easily the most reassuring thing Dean has ever seen because he knows exactly how to make it all better.

Panting, shaking, he clumsily rips into Cas’ pants as Cas rips into his jeans. “Here--“ Dean catches one of Cas’ hands, gathers salvia on his tongue and sucks in two fingers to wet them. His heart hammers. In his experience, he has never resorted to spit for lube and his head spins at the thought of trying it now.

“There is oil in the trunk,” Cas rasps. Dean only sucks harder on the fingers, knees tightening involuntarily around him. He would rather Cas not leave even for the second it would take for him to teleport into the trunk and back out.

When Cas’ fingers leave his mouth, a little string of drool trails behind and Dean feels dirty in the best way. He trembles again. The corners of Cas’ lips tilt as he gives into his human’s way and rests the slick pads of his fingers against Dean’s fundament.

“The rules appear different when in an automobile versus a bed.”

Dean chuckles, body feeling fluttery as Cas unintentionally teases him with his fingers in position but not moving, his loose fist circling Dean’s upright arousal. “Yeah,” and that’s all Dean can possibly say on the subject because there isn’t enough blood in his head.

Cas’ eyes narrow ever so slightly as he catalogues the information. Then, as Dean releases a shaky breath and digs his head into the leather seat, Cas’ fingers breech him. His toes curl when Cas prods him in exactly the right spot.

“Just you, Dean,” Cas whispers, repeatedly twisting knuckle deep, responding with ardor when Dean slips his own fingers down to tease him there, too, wet little circles and harmless taps. “only you, it’s only ever you.”

Limited thinking ability still can’t cushion the blow these words have to Dean’s will power. Fuck. Something deep inside him twists in on itself. His body thrums in reaction to it. He gulps.

“It means a lot, Cas,” Dean admits--finally answering the question between gasps, voice as shaky as his body, “So much. It’s--oh!--more…” he growls out his frustration, finishing the rest in a rush through his teeth, “ _more than anything I can give you_.”

“This is enough,” Cas gasps, and a moment later the coil of tension springs free and Dean is spilling, grunting a curse and Cas’ name and touching the sky with the bottom of his spine. Cas works himself quickly and a moment later, curls in with a choke and cough. The musky air in the closed space of car flashes in a ripple of static electricity bursting outwards from the angel’s skin.

The sound of the rain seems to get louder, but only because of the stillness and silence within the car. They rest in a pile together on the backseat, shifting so that Cas can lay with his arms around Dean, cushioning the hunter’s head with his firm bare chest. It is a full tilt storm outside, thunder and lightning scrubbing the world clean outside the car windows.

“Are you causing this?” Dean asks into their sated silence.

The angel chuckles, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair, and the rumble of his voice through his chest plate beneath Dean’s ear is satisfying in a way Dean can never describe. “No,” he admits, “This storm front has been on its way in for a few hours.”

Cas’ hands don’t stop moving over Dean’s skin, across his shoulders, down his arm, in circles over his back, through his hair, lightly over his eyebrows, his cheek bones. Dean notes the way Cas still breaths shallow, and lifting his head, he finds Cas’ pupils still blown wide open. Though his cock lies spent and placid against his leg, Cas seems in no way sated.

“It’s still going for you, isn’t it?” Dean asks, astonished.

“Hm-hm,” is the simple answer, “An angel coupling is more than physicality.”

“Yeah, yeah, the thing about souls, I remember,” Dean teasingly interrupts. Cas smiles widely, charmed--somehow--by Dean’s reckless sarcasm.

“I’ve never gotten to just hold you like this,” the angel whispers, hand still endless moving, endlessly mapping, memorizing, adoring. Recalling the way he had always retreated into his shame and booted Cas out of bed almost as soon as it was over, Dean hums apologetically.

“You said your ejaculation is the best it gets,” Cas kisses the words into Dean’s skin, “That part is only a fraction of my pleasure, Dean.”

“So… angels don’t cum?” Cas gives him a look recalling clearly the moment earlier when he’d shot his load into Dean’s fist, and the hunter reiterates, “I mean, when you aren’t in a human body. When it’s just two angels… you don’t cum then?”

“Ejaculation is for breeding purposes. Angels are created in pure light by God.”

“So there’s no big finish? No grand hurrah?”

“Angels make love for months at a time.”

“Yeah but what’s the point if you aren’t gunning for something, man? You go and you go and you go and what?” he frowns, unimpressed, “You just stop? It just… ends?”

“Love doesn’t end, Dean. It’s eternal.” The finality of the soft spoken statement sends chills blossoming over Dean’s skin, and Cas holds him closer. In the face of that truth, Dean closes his eyes, feeling utterly at home here in the Impala with pounding rain on the roof of the cab, the windows blurry, and his body tangled with and pressed alongside Cas’.

“Yeah but,” he argues into the silence, for the sake of clarity as well as shaking off the weight of Cas’ words, “What about all that stuff you were saying about lightning bolts and thunderstorms when two angels hook up? Isn’t that the big climax?”

“It is a natural peak in the energy level of the experience,” Cas admits, “But it isn’t an end. Sometimes it’s only the beginning, sometimes it happens in the middle. Or so I’m told. But it’s in no way a signal that the coupling is over. It’s only a part of the process.”

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Dean gives up, “Whatever man, it still doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“You sound angry.”

“I just want to know what I’m supposed to be striving for here,” Dean grouses, “I’m finished but you need more, and I don’t know when you’ll have enough. What, are you just gonna sigh and tell me to stop? Yeah, that sounds worth my effort.”

“Angels are nothing like humans, Dean, why should our fornication be the same?”

“Do something that’s messy and exhausting for as long as you’re saying and there had better be a huge pay off, is all I’m saying.”

“You’re saying sex isn’t worth it the way angels do it,” he laughs, truly amused, “You just can’t comprehend it happening purely outside of a hormonal instinct to populate the earth.”

“Start in on that soul crap and we’re done here,” Dean grins up at him with playful finality.

“But that’s what it is, Dean. It’s pure energy creating love, not fleshy babies. That’s a huge difference. It’s not measured in how long it lasts or how hard it ends, or the success of a fertilized egg, but in how much love it accumulates.”

“Yeah, but how does it end?” Dean asks, again, truly only concerned with getting an explanation of his finish line here.

“It doesn’t,” Cas repeats, then motioning out of the car window, he strives for a metaphor to aid Dean’s understanding, “It’s like the rain. It falls and seeps into the ground and collects in streams that race towards oceans and then it lifts, one particle at a time, up into the sky, knotting together so tightly in the belly of the clouds until it’s all so heavy that it falls back to the ground again,” his blue eyes meet Dean’s, “And it happens like that continuously, it keeps going on and on and on.”

The sheer depth of Cas’ eyes is at once frightening and alluring for Dean, who feels on the verge of slipping into them never to come back to the surface. He drops his head back down to Cas’ chest, where it’s safer. “Well, I only last a coupla minutes, tops,” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood again, “So, how is that not frustrating as hell for you?”

“There is no frustration, because there is no instinctual goal to accomplish!” Dean lifts his head to give his friend a distinctly annoyed look. Thumbing the plush corner of Dean’s mouth, Cas chuckles warmly, “But in this body, lost with you, Dean, those few minutes are the falling to ground part.”

“That a good thing?”

Cas nods into Dean’s neck and bites him hungrily. The nip is just beneath the pain line and Dean hums happily and mulls over the answer. It is too easy to imagine Cas as a million rain drops free falling, surfing the wind, careening toward the ground exploding against the asphalt or the windshield…a natural peek, like the crest of a wave…

“Do you understand?”

“I guess…” Dean says, eyes still unfocused as he considers the abstract idea. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile. There is a joke on the tip of his tongue when headlights sweep over the Impala. Cas instinctually dunks his head and Dean jerks his feet back into the floorboards. They slam into each other painfully and Dean swears as he wriggles back into his jeans.

The massive pick-up truck parks right next to them. Cas has a mild look of terror and guilt as he fumbles for his coat. Did they seriously think that Sam was the only threat out here? Dean feels like a fool as he struggles upright and claims one side of the car like a normal person.

He can’t see through the fog, but hears the truck doors creak open, the drunken laughter of a man, the professional giggle of a hooker. A petite shadow passes over his window, the sound of high heels running through puddles, and then the strangers are gone into the room next door.

Cas has found his tie and drapes it over his head, then drops both hands to his lap and sits there awkwardly staring ahead, shirt and coat collar twisted, coat tails crumbled behind him. Dean feels heat on his face and doesn’t know if it is humiliation or anger or both. “They didn’t see anything.”

“I should still go,” Cas says, glancing at him. Dean swallows and nods, wishing there was some way to make the shame disappear, for both of them. It is one thing to meet up in a dark motel, have fun, get dressed, part ways….it is totally different to hook up frantically in the backseat of a car, cuddle naked afterwards and then get caught that way…

Reflex has Dean laughing about it. It has to be funny because that way he can live with it. But nothing witty comes out, just an echo, “They didn’t see.”

He stops Cas from disappearing with a hand to the shoulder. The angel’s eyebrows lift in question and Dean starts tugging at the clothes to straighten them. He tuts disapprovingly, and the clucking finally snaps the awkward tension. He feels Cas relax under his hands as he folds down collars, reties the tie.

“There you go, buddy.” Two pats the shoulder like always and then Cas gives him that smile reserved only for him. Dean’s lips part as he finally finds the word to describe it. Sated.

“Thank you, Dean. Sleep well.”

Dean puffs and rasps, “You too,” but the angel is already gone.

 


End file.
